


Writ Small

by Samarkand12



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samarkand12/pseuds/Samarkand12
Summary: "Why father, I believe I am you writ small."Tyrion should not be surprised the gods have a macabre sense of humour.  A drunken slip down the shaft fulfills his wildest dreams...and worst nightmares.





	1. Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

_"Now that's where you're wrong, Father. Why, I believe I'm you writ small."_  
  
He had a ship to catch.  
  
But there was always time for a flagon of wine. Or three. Wine and whores had always been his pleasures. Only of late whores had brought more bitterness than joy. Tyrion tilted the last of the Dornish red he had taken from his late father's room down his throat. He didn't want to think of the shape sprawled out upon the Hand's bed. Yes. Wine would never betray him.  
  
Tyrion waddled more clumsily than usual down the secret passage within the Tower of the Hand. Careful. He had to be careful. A swift reminder of how careful he had to be came when he nearly stepped into empty space. The goblet went clattering down the shaft. Oh. Dear. Wouldn't that be the final insult in a life that had become full of them? It wouldn't do to just--  
  
\---a weaving foot struggled to find the first iron rung--  
  
\--miss and--  
  
\--a sweaty hand reached down and--  
  
\--fall---  
  
In the darkness, there was a brief scream and the rush of wind.  
  
A thud.  
  
And then silence.  
  
++++  
  
Tyrion awoke with a scream upon his lips.  
  
Oh gods. He was never climbing anything higher than a footstool ever again. The nightmare of falling down the shaft had been all too vivid. Though his throat was dry as Dorne, he had none of his usual wont to reach for a wineskin. The dream had been an all too pointed reminder that it might not be wise to drown his sorrows. He was a kinslayer and convicted regicide. His sweet sister would be sending assassins after him even if he traveled to Qarth. His sole protection was the Spider. Tipping down another flagon would dull his wits. He needed every one of them.  
  
Tyrion fell back into the narrow ship's berth.  
  
He blinked.  
  
Actually, it was wider than any ship's berth that he had known. There was no sense of the rocking of waves. Had he arrived already in Pentos? Odd. The sanctuary that the Spider had sent him to seemed oddly familiar. The closeness of the room had the feel that was within every Lannister's bones. He had known it all the terrible years of his childhood. It was the weight of the countless tons of stone within which his house had carved their stronghold from the Rock.  
  
Tyrion rubbed his face. That was madness. The only room he might sleep in the Rock now would be one of the oubliettes that--  
  
Wait.  
  
Tyrion traced down his face where Mandon Moore's blade had cut him. There was no scar. His nose was whole. His lip was unmarred. But...it did not feel like his face, at that.  
  
A trembling hand reached out to a small table. It found steel and flint and a candle.  
  
Cursing, Tyrion struck until the taper had lit.  
  
It was definitely the Rock. The room he was in was richly appointed. Odd, though. It seemed a little boy's. Tyrion kicked off the bedclothes as he took the candle in hand. He froze as he stared down at his legs. They were not the twisted, stunted limbs that had made him waddle every day of his life. They were normal.  
  
Tyrion looked up into a silvered glass just across the room.  
  
Within features that were terribly familiar, green-flecked gold eyes stared back out out the image of the ten year old boy reflected on its surface.  
  
A rictus twisted its lips.  
  
Tyrion's laugh was half a scream.  
  
"I'M YOU WRIT SMALL!"

++++

This was not what he expected after dying a kinslayer.  
  
Gods be good, this was it was like to be whole. Tyrion walked about the room with none of the awkwardness he expected. This body of his father's moved with the same assurance as if it had been Tyrion who had been born into it. There was none of the hesitation of someone riding a strange mount for the first time. Tyrion hesitantly tried a cartwheel. Then he tried a somersault. Soon he was laughing half-mad as he tumbled about his room as if he were in motley.  
  
Flush of face, he brought himself before the glass once more. Fingers traced a handsome boy's features that still had the fat of babyhood plumping them. He was quite the good-looking one now, wasn't he? He lightly slapped a cheek. Are you watching in the depths of the seven hells, father? He slapped the other one harder. Did you feel that, father? Or is there a Tywin still in the depths of this mind, crushed beneath my soul? Slap. Slap. Slap. I killed you. I am alive. I am you now, can you feel this? SLAP. SLAP. Finally I can hit you for everything you ever did to me. Gods. Tysha. Where do whores go? TELL ME WHERE SHE IS--  
  
Hands shook his shoulders.  
  
Tyrion stared into shocked brown eyes. Hair the shade of chestnut kissed with fire framed a face with a soft beauty to their cast. Behind her stood a man with golden hair and green eyes. He had some of the stoutness of his uncle Kevan with the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes that Gerion had had. There was none of the amiability in them of his late uncle. Warm arms enveloped him in a tight embrace.  
  
"Shhh, sweetling," cooed a loving voice. "It was but a dream. It is all over now. Mother and father are here."  
  
Mother? Father?  
  
How could this be? He had killed his mother upon the birthing bed. He had killed his--  
  
The crossbow thrummed.  
  
"Tywin, my boy, speak to us." The man's voice was rich as honey. Nothing like the coldness in Tywin--in his--  
  
"I dreamt I was in some hell," Tyrion croaked.  
  
"Shhh, sweetling." Lips kissed his brow. "I know you hate when I call you that, Tywin. I cannot help it."  
  
"Do you wish me to fetch Maester Beldon?" the man asked. "Some dreamwine or sweetsleep to drive the terrors away."  
  
"My weakness has passed, father." Tyrion found himself mouthing the words as he imagined father would. All one had to do was have no sense of humour and mum having a gold brick up one's arse. "I will not shame you more with this."  
  
"You could never shame me, sweetling." The woman smiled. So beautiful. "Certainly not on your nameday."  
  
Nameday.  
  
Tyrion giggled.  
  
"Gods be good, a laugh!" The man let out a resonant one of his own, the equal of any of Gerion's. "It must be my nameday rather than his."  
  
"Let our boy have his, husband." The woman sobered. "Sweetling, would you like us to keep you company?"  
  
"I am well...mother." Tyrion swallowed. "One more hug, perhaps."  
  
"What has possessed you?" The woman granted him another embrace. "You never liked such before."  
  
"I was a fool to refuse them," Tyrion said.  
  
Tyrion basked in the embrace of the woman. Would Joanna have given him such affection had she lived? The man patted him somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder. It was a clumsy, endearing sort of gesture. It was as if he were half-afraid that it would be shrugged off. Tyrion found himself aping more of Father--the grave nod, the polite handshake, and such. Neither of his visitors found aught amiss. Well, he had oft mimicked Father to Jaime when he was sure Father was far away. It was not hard at all to act like Father had as he thought the man would have been as a boy.  
  
Tyrion sank to his knees when the door closed behind them. Others take him, that was the infamous Tytos Lannister and his wife Jeyne Marbrand, He had only heard ill-stories of Tytos' weakness and precious little of his grandmother. Now, they were his father and mother. Tyrion shuddered. No, they were Tywin's father and mother. Somehow the gods had seen fit to reward him, of all things, for kinslaying by warging him into his own father's body as a young man.  
  
Wait.  
  
He had to be perhaps nine or ten years old, if his guess was true. That meant it was the year 252.  
  
When his grandsire's misrule had deepened.  
  
And the Reynes and the Tarbecks were running riot in the land.  
  
"Oh, bugger."

 


	2. Renamed Day

Genna smirked as she eased open the latch to the door of her brother's room. Ever since she was three, she had tried to make her eldest brother laugh on his nameday. Not that her dour brother ever did. But she had to try, didn't she? Ever so slowly she slipped into his chamber. Her bare feet padded soundlessly on the Myrish carpets. Her fingers flexed in anticipation. She climbed onto his bed as quick and nimble as a shadowcat.  
  
Tywin slept with an arm flung over his eyes. Genna blinked. At one hand was an empty wineskin. Her brother had cozened that from the servants? He never drank save for sometimes at feasts with the watered wine Mother permitted Genna and her brothers. Well, that might make him more merry for once. Genna slowly ran her hands up and down his ribs through his nightclothes. His chest hitched once or twice. Yes! She had him now. Genna tickled him more intensely. He moaned strangely. He said someone's name.  
  
Who was this Shae?  
  
Hands wrapped around her throat in a terrible grip. Genna grabbed his wrists as he slammed her onto her back. She couldn't breathe! He was hurting her! Tywin would never hurt her. But it hurt and everything was going black. She slapped him over and over to get him to stop. He wouldn't. His eyes were wide in a face so twisted with rage that it couldn't be her brothers. He sang a strange song about hands of gold and women's warm hands and giants of Lannister. Why was he doing this? Had she really been that bad? All she had wanted to do was make him laugh.  
  
A gasp.  
  
The pressure lifted off her neck.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Ty, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll never make you laugh again."  
  
"Oh, gods. Genna."  
  
++++  
  
Tyrion held his head in the water bucket long enough to half-drown himself. The cold water almost clear away the fug from the wine he had filched on the sly. Contemplating a life cursed to be spent dealing with the Mad King had had him breaking his vow of sobriety within the hour. It hadn't been hard to procure a skin of cheap vintage from where a guard had it stashed for a nip during rounds. In his old life, he had been an old hand at finding drink to numb his miseries. He had been doing it since he was eight. It hadn't stopped the dreams. Nor had it numbed the memories. Shae had been among them. He had felt her tickle him as she had so many times when they were together.  
  
It had not been her. Tywin glanced at his Aunt Genna, curled up in his bed. The woman he had known growing up had been a loud, boisterous woman whose hugs had been as large as her. This chubby moppet of a girl was like his niece Myrcella might have been if she had been more fond of cake. Guilt throbbed him also as bad as his headache at the livid handprints on her throat. He had half-killed her from the drink and hatred of a ghost. His hands still ached from the ferocity with which he had strangled her.  
  
Father had been right.  
  
Even fair and whole, he was a little monster.  
  
"I won't do it again, Ty." Genna edged away from him. "If you wanted me to stop, you could have told me."  
  
"I was suffering a nightmare, sister." How odd it was to call Genna that! "You startled me out of it."  
  
"What was scaring you so?" Genna's green eyes were wide enough to admit a wheelhouse. "You're never scared, Ty. Never."  
  
"Big brothers can be scared," Tyrion said. "It's a terrible confession to make, I know."  
  
"Who is Shae?"  
  
Tyrion's hands clenched.  
  
"Oh." Genna shivered. "She must have been some demon who hurt you."  
  
"A demon would have been a mercy." Tyrion licked his lips. "I dreamed I was....someone else. I was a twisted dwarf, accused of a crime I did not commit simply because a dwarf looks guilty. Shae was a woman I loved who was called as a witness. She--she told them every loving thing we had done, and they all laughed--"  
  
"Like they do at father?" Genna asked.  
  
"Yes. Like they do at T--father." They had never laughed at his father in his memory.  
  
"I thought if I made you laugh, it wouldn't be as bad." Genna bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I ruined your nameday."  
  
"You didn't ruin anything," Tyrion said. Gently, he touched her throat. "You were always kind to me."  
  
"In your dream?" Genna cocked her head.  
  
"In my dream." Tyrion paused. "You aren't married, are you?"  
  
"I'm only six, Ty." Genna perked. "What was my husband like in your dream, Ty? Was he handsome and a brave knight?"  
  
Tyrion thought of Emmon Frey.  
  
"Aemon the Dragonknight reborn," Tyrion lied, blatantly and shamelessly. "Brilliant teeth, six feet tall, and a cock the size of a horse."  
  
"Ty, you're not supposed to say those words!" Genna blushed furiously. "I've never heard you say that kind of word."  
  
"Oh, you'll find my vocabulary rather wider." Tyrion smiled. "So you were trying to ambush me in my sleep."  
  
"Kind of silly," Genna said. "I wanted to surprise you."  
  
"You did at that." Tyrion grinned, showing his teeth. "But my dear sweet sister, you should beware that baiting a lion in its den has consequences."  
  
"Ty? No, wait EEEEHHAHAHAHHAHAH--"  
  
The room echoed with the sound of girlish laughter.

++++

"You should see the maester," Kevan said, staring at the handprints around his sister's throat.  
  
"No! He'll tell mother and father." Genna tied a scarf of crimson and gold to hide them. "It's his nameday. He's already hurt enough."  
  
"Genn, he half-killed you like someone he was trying to throttle in a dream!"  
  
"I won't betray his secrets." Genna coughed. "You could tell Maester Beldon about his dream as if it were your own. He must have learned about it at the Citadel."  
  
"I suppose, if someone can be sick in mind as well as body," Kevan said.  
  
"We have to watch him, Kev," Genna said.  
  
"Of course. He's Tywin. He's our brother."  
  
++++  
  
Tyrion gripped the armrests of his chair almost hard enough to crack the oak.  
  
It was grossly unfair that he could not enjoy this. His father had never allowed him a proper nameday feast. His uncles and aunts had been kind enough to visit him in his rooms to bring him presents. All his father had given him was a cold glare that silently chided him for living yet another year. He was never allowed to leave his rooms to attend the nameday celebrations of his relatives. Now he sat in the place of honor at the head table of the great hall of Casterly Rock. It was a cavern carved from the living stone of the Rock. Veins of gold had been left in the walls to sparkle in the candlelight from the chandeliers set high above. Stretching out below him were all the great and good of the West and Lannisport: Lannisters and the lesser houses of the cadet lines, lords and ladies from Crakehall to the Golden Tooth, and below the salt merchants and knights of lesser rank. All was to honor him.  
  
It all reminded him of the last great feast he had attended. Soured by cheap wine, his stomach had roiled at the memories of that cursed nameday feast. Every time he saw Tytos smile at Jeyne brought back Sansa's wordless suffering at being wed to him. Every toast had him thinking of the stinking stickiness of the wine Joffrey had spilled over him. Drinking from the small cup of Arbor gold in response to each toast was a torture. His throat closed up at each sip. If a troupe of dwarves came in between courses, Tyrion swore he would run screaming from the hall no matter what the consequences. Let them think he was mad. He was already halfway to ending up chained and howling in one of the Rock's oubliettes.  
  
A soft hand stroked his. Tyrion glanced guiltily at Genna. Her bright green eyes gazed at him with wordless sympathy. She had barely touched her plate. Jeyne had noticed that. Genna had hid the cause with words about a nervous stomach as she had what he had done to her beneath that scarf. Gods be damned, it was so strange to see her so young. This feast was like eating among a host of ghosts: both those who had been long-gone by his time, and the shades of the youths of who he had known. Beside Genna was his uncle, now younger brother, Kevan. The stolid knight somewhat gone to fat was a boy who resembled a more solemn Tommen. He had visited his babe of an "uncle" Tygett in the nursery before the feast.  
  
All around him were figures that he had known only from tales of his father's youth. The morose young man with Lannister features must be Ser Jason, who would die in the Stepstones. The grizzled red-haired man whose mane was salted with grey had to be Lord Alyn Marbrand. In a few years he too would be dead, slain by the Reynes and the Tarbecks under the guise of thinking his host were robber knights. Tyrion's eye was drawn further down the line of tables to where a huge man in silver and rea was holding court among his neighbours. Beside him was a fox-faced man in the same house colours. Both their long manes were red-gold. So that must be the infamous Roger Reyne and his clever brother Reynard. Near them were two girls who could not be more than one or two years his senior. Tyrion hid a wince as he recalled the rumours of what his father had done to Cerelle and Rohanne Tarbeck. Speaking of which, the toad-faced sort beside them must be old Walderan himself. He was too close to resembling Janos Slynt from Tyrion's comfort.  
  
"My lords, a toast."  
  
Oh, lovely, another one.  
  
"Of course, my lord Tarbeck," Tytos said, raising his goblet.  
  
"Oh gods," Jeyne muttered, just loud enough to Tyrion to hear. "Not again."  
  
"I drink to the health of your son and heir," Walderan Tarbeck cried out. "May his health grow as your stomach has since I knew you as a babe. Why, if Tywin is as strong is as your waist is thick, the Stranger will never take him."  
  
Wood _cracked_ beneath Tyrion's fist as laughter swept through the hall.  
  
My giant of Lannister, she had said before everyone. So much mirth.  
  
"Hahhahaha!" Tytos mock-staggered to acknowledge the hit. "A deft twist to my tail."  
  
"Why should you suffer such impudence on your own heir's day?" Jeyne whispered.  
  
"He never fights back," Genna said.  
  
Tyrion narrowed his eyes.  
  
"And I return the toast, my lord of Tarbeck." Tyrion saluted Walderan with his goblet. "It is always amusing to see the best-dressed beggar in our lands attend our court."  
  
Silence descended on the hall.  
  
"Oh come now," Tyrion said, leaping up on the table. "No-one truly thinks that the gold we grant to poor, poor Walderan are loans? Pure charity granted out of pity."  
  
"You call me a beggar before my own daughters?" Walderan appropriately croaked out.  
  
"Since we haven't seen a single groat of repayment, then that is the most charitable interpretation." Tyrion smiled. "You stand here in your finery and splendor, my lord. Yet if our gold were loans instead of the alms they are, then all you have would be truly owned by us."  
  
"Tywin, my boy, you are too harsh," Tytos said, skin pale as the Wall.  
  
"Better we call him beggar than--" Tyrion laid a finger against his nose. "What is the other word for a man who takes money without intending repayment? Oh yes: thief."  
  
"I don't have to stand for this!" Walderan tossed own glass to the floor. "Tytos, you had best teach your boy some manners--"  
  
"Uncle Jason, if this thief leaves the Rock, kindly have our guards strip him of everything down to his smallcloths," Tyrion said. "Let him walk naked back to his hovel. Unless my lord of Tarbeck admits he is a beggar who grovels for dragons every time he comes."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrion saw Roger Reyne rising with features clouded with rage. His brother struggled to keep the lord of Castamere from drawing his dagger.  
  
Gold-flecked eyes stared at the lord of Tarbeck Hall.  
  
Walderan Tarbeck swallowed.  
  
"The...generosity of your house is a credit to its magnificence."  
  
"Have some more charity." Tyrion tossed a golden dragon from his purse at Walderan. It bounced off his chest to land in the puddle of wine at his feet. "I will be at the sept later to pass out more alms to all the deserving of the West. There seems to be an epidemic of beggary in our lands."  
  
Tytos appeared near about to slip into a dead faint. Roger Reyne would like as charged the table as he had so many enemies. Ser Jason, Lord Alyn, and several red cloaks had bared steel. Tyrion did not care. They had all laughed. Now let them feel the sting. He was no dwarf to be cast down as the villain A wild laugh escaped his lips. Giddy, he somersaulted once in the air to land on his hands. Genna clapped her hands in glee as he walked upon them down the table to the entrance of the hall. Halfway down he seized one astonished lady's cup of hippocras. He drained it balancing on one hand. Tyrion let out a massive, vulgar belch continuing on his way.  
  
As he passed, he found himself staring upside down at the shocked faces of Cerelle and Rohanne Tarbeck.  
  
Both yelped when he stole kisses from their slack mouths.  
  
Laughing all the way, Tyrion carthweeled out before the great and good of the west while scattering dragons amid the crowd.  
  
Now this was a nameday!


	3. Speaking to Devils

Damn the Lannisters!  
  
Ellyn Reyne stared at Casterly Rock as if she could melt it to slag with sheer rage. She deserved to reign there in all the splendor and glory due her. Instead, she was rendered outcast from court. They could not deny her the right to buying a grand manse in Lannisport. But this was as close as she could manage until the day the golden lions were laid low. How she hated them. So many reasons that they had earned her scorn. Tywald and Tion had perished in pointless little wars without getting the child she had needed to be regent of the Lannister heir. That pathetic worm Tytos had crawled on his belly to his harridan wife went he had gone limp when she had favored him with her charms. Old Gerold had banished her. Nothing enraged her more than the Lannisters.  
  
Now, two of the men in her solar had earned almost as much bile as she usually heaped upon the Lannisters. Her florid-faced fool of a husband flinched away at her attention. Her brother Roger stood there muttering like a clueless half-wit. Gods. It was not Lannisters who were her bane. It was men. She had some mild affection for the old oaf that Gerold had married her off to as supposed penance for her ambition. Walderan had proven himself not unskilled in the bedchamber. That he preferred being ridden than mounting her was a pleasant change from her experience with other men. The three children he had gotten upon her were her most cherished possessions. As for Roger, she dearly loved her gallant brother. He was the finest sword in the west. Yet did not lessen her scorn for them at the moment. Fools! Only Reynard escaped her contempt.  
  
"Explain to me once more," Ellyn said, "how you allowed a boy of ten to make you a eunuch before the lords of the West."  
  
"Be fair, sweet sister." Reynard lounged on a chair. "I know not how that dour cub of Tytos' sharpened his tongue to a razor's edge. Our lost blade Red Rain could not have cut deeper."  
  
"Something off about the child," Walderan said. "At the end, there was the sort of battle-madness one sees in those who've glimpsed the Stranger in war."  
  
"He capered about like old Lord Toad, by all accounts," Ellyn retorted. "You were made a fool of by a fool of a fool."  
  
"I would have corrected the brat quickly enough, had I not been stopped," Roger said.  
  
"You were a fool of another stripe, brother," Ellyn said. "By Reynard's account, you almost drew steel in the hall while under guest right. Only our brother's hand stopped your head from saying farewell to your stiff neck."  
  
"What was I to do?" Roger cried out. "The cub slighted our house and you as beggars."  
  
"No, he didn't," Ellyn said. "Pay more attention to his words than your boiling blood. The only one he named a mendicant was my husband."  
  
"Deftly done, by the by." Reynard stroked his beard. "In the eyes of our fellow lords, my sister is a long-suffering wife to a man who might as well put aside his finery for a begging brother's cassock and bowl."  
  
"We still have our knights and lands," Walderan said.   
  
"He cut your stones off before your bannermen, Tarbeck," Roger said. "We'll be next for gelding. Very well. If you're to be a beggar, then best you're our beggar. Our House will take on your debts. We'll take the incomes of your lands and pledge half of the incomes of ours to save our honor."  
  
"We should not pay a copper to the Lannisters," Ellyn spat.   
  
"Ellyn, I do so admire your scheming ways," Reynard said. "For once, do shut up. The Laughing Lion's cub had the good fortune to win this tilt by beginner's luck. That does not mean he has won the tourney."  
  
Ellyn forced herself to not claw Reynard's face to ribbons. However much it galled her, they had no choice but to submit to paying back the gifts that Tytos had granted them. It was not fair. The gold of the Rock was hers by right. Walderan reached out to her in a pathetic gesture of comfort. She slapped him away. Damn him. He might wear breeches. Yet it was clear who in this marriage had the cock. She stormed out of her solar with what little remained of her dignity. Roger and Reynard were arguing over taking out a loan from the Iron Bank as further proof of their house's sincerity.  
  
In truth, the cub's sudden change in demeanor worried her a touch. She had been so sure that the Lannister heirs had inherited their father's weakness and their mother's milksop disposition. The boy's brazen nature with a caustic wit did not sit well with her at all. That he had in the next breath acted like some common acrobat in a mummer's show was a puzzlement. Perhaps it was meant as a statement that he cared little for anyone's opinion. That he could afford to caper. Hmmm. Rumours of madness? That might do it. Kings of the Rock of old had been as mad as Maegor. There had even been one who had walked the docks of Lannisport in a whore's velvets and gauds. Some whispers might tarnish the boy's reputation.  
  
Or there might be another way.  
  
He had stolen kisses from both Rohanne and Cerelle like a conqueror taking an enemy's daughter to wife.  
  
Yes. Roger already had plans for the Lannister chit to marry one of his sons or her own Tion.  
  
If the boy was arrogant, then he might be vulnerable to a girl's charms enough to have a Reyne once again Lady of the Rock.  
  
Smiling craftily, Ellyn headed to her eldest daughter's room for a chat.

++++

The Starks gazed down upon Tyrion from their places upon the walls of Casterly Rock's sept. Eddard's Stark's severed head balanced in the scales of the Father's justice. The Mother's features were Catelyn Stark's, ravaged by her own nails and bloated from the waters of the Green Fork. Cradled in her arms was the severed head of her youngest son. Beaten and naked, Sansa cowered in shame where the Maid should have been dancing. Robb Stark's head had been replaced by his direwolf's as he stood with the sword of the Warrior in his hands. Bran Stark lay supine on the floor where the Smith's hammer has shattered his back. Maester Luwin was a charred corpse bearing the Crone's lantern. Oddly, it was Arya Stark who peeked out from the hooded robes of the Stranger.  
  
Tyrion sighed. It was all so very symbolic. It was all quite useless. What, he silently asked, does the Seven mean to say with all this? None of your misfortunes were my fault. If you were meant to represent judgement, dear Eddard, then clearly you are the epitome of the lack of it. As for you, my lady Catelyn, if you had used what passed for a brain in your head then all your house's misfortunes would never have come to pass. Sansa, I meant to be the best husband I could under the circumstances. Rather unfair you left me to hang in your place. I do sympathise with you, mind, Young Wolf. Misplaced love and an eager cock were my downfall as well. For the rest of you, piss off with your haunting of me. I've enough ghosts enough.  
  
Or possibly I am going quite mad.  
  
Are you here to condemn me for the crimes of the Lannisters? Don't worry. I don't intend my sweet sister, my brave brother, or the golden fruit of their loins to come to pass. If need be, I'll drown both of them if it comes to pass that I father them. Tyrion lingered on the idea of drowning his elder siblings-to-be in a bucket. Perhaps it might be more fitting, as lions were cats, to have them tossed into the sea like a matched set of unwanted kittens. Would you like that, my lords and ladies of Stark? Or would it please you better that they never be born at all? It might be difficult to stop myself from fucking my own mother. But, unlike my elder siblings, I think I can resist the temptation.  
  
Well? A clearer sign would not come amiss.  
  
Two red-cloaked guardsmen entered the sept.  
  
"M'lord Tywin, you are commanded by your father to attend him."  
  
Sighing, Tyrion waved farewell to the Starks.  
  
+++  
  
Tyrion had survived two battles. The combat against the mountain clans on the high road counted more as an affray. He could hardly call himself a veteran. However, on this battlefield he was as experienced a warrior as Ser Barristan the Bold. Tyrion stood in the middle of the Lord of Casterly Rock's solar where had had so often been called to account by Tywin Lannister. The furnishings were slightly different. His true father had preferred a touch more austerity in decorations. Tytos's tastes ran to more comfortable furnishings. A cabinet openly showing off a selection of fine wines would never had graced the solar in his father's day. The room now had a convivial atmosphere it had never had in Tywin's time. Yet here he was again, standing before his father upon the same damned Myrish carpet.  
  
Tyrion struggle not to smirk at Tytos Lannister attempting to act stern before his wayward son. The man faced a window of diamond panes that looked out over Lanniport and the Sunset Sea beyond. His back was to Tyrion with his hands folded behind him. It was the classic pose of the disappointed father who could not face his wayward son. Only Tytos had not quite the poise to carry off the mummery. His stance was uncertain. The long silence conveyed the idea that Tytos had no idea what to say, rather than forcing Tyrion to endure the lash of disapproval. Tywin would have simply glared with the gold-flecked green eyes that were now Tyrion's. Before his true father, Tyrion would have stammered out anything to end the cold silence.  
  
Now he was just bored.  
  
"It was the capering," Tyrion finally said, simply to move matters along.   
  
"Had you capered like a fool, I would have been well-pleased." Tytos swiveled about. His expression resembled nothing so much of an annoyed lady's lapdog. "It would have meant I could see my son's light heart. Instead, you turned a day of joy into one of spite."  
  
"I?" Tyrion asked. My, wasn't this a familiar tune. "That odious frog of a man who owes us all insulted you before all your bannermen. All under the guise of a jape. If he had not wished a cut in return, he should not have entered the lists. Measure for measure, father."  
  
"You humiliated among our strongest vassals," Tytos said. "You forced your attentions upon his daughters. Then you insulted half the lords of the west as beggars too.'  
  
"I named no names," Tyrion said. "If some find their consciences pricking them, is that my fault? Oh, it appears it is."  
  
"I assured them your ill-considered words did not reflect upon them." Tytos drew a deep breath. "My son, I am afraid that I must give for a sharp lesson."  
  
Tyrion stepped forward, smiling.  
  
At least, his lips were open and his teeth were bared.  
  
Tyros inched away, his face milk-pale.  
  
"What sort of lesson do you intend to teach?" Tyrion whispered.  
  
"I--I--" Tytos swallowed hard. "You will name one of Lord Tarbeck's daughters as the fair maid for the tourney on the morrow rather than your sister.'  
  
"Really? Tyrion's hand fell away from the pommel of his dagger. "That is all?"  
  
"Is it not sufficient?" Tytos wrung his hands.  
  
"You cannot imagine the sting it inflicts upon me." Tyrion chuckled. "Why, I'll name both as fair maids, since I kissed them both. We should at least be able to exchange a golden lion for two of copper."  
  
"Please, don't say that! I just managed to smooth Walderan's ruffled feathers," Tytos pleaded.  
  
"Fine." Tyrion bowed. "Is there anything else?"  
  
"Just do try not to mortally insult our guests for the rest of the week." Tytos slumped into a chair, head in his hands.  
  
Tyrion could not summon up hatred. At best, a vague pity stirred in his heart. This man should never have become lord. Even Robert Baratheon had had his old strength buried within the wastrel that he had become. There were hints in the ruin of the man that he had once been the very picture of a king. There was nothing in that of Tytos Lannister. Here was a man utterly unable to defend himself against the harpies that assailed him. Even the Starks had had more of a chance against their enemies.  
  
A scrap of parchment on the table where Tytos was wont to conduct business caught Tyrion's eye. The wax seal bore the twin towers linked by a bridge of a certain riverlands house. Tyrion froze. It would happen later this year, would it not? Tytos still had his hands over his eyes. With a deft movement, Tyrion swept the raven message into his doublet. With his other hand he laid a comforting touch upon his new father's arm. That brought a watery smile of gratitude from the man. Tyrion affected a silent, dignified bow before quitting the room.  
  
A few moments later, he read the contents of the message beneath a torch set in a wall sconce.  
  
He thoughtfully fed it to the brand. The flames consumed it within a second.  
  
He had some idea of what he was here for, at that.

 


	4. An Imp In Lion's Skin

Kevan waited in the hallway outside his father's solar. He already wore a padded jack for the sparring that was to come. It was ever thus after Father had his talks with Tywin. His elder brother would come out tight-lipped with eyes ablaze with fury. He would waste no time fleeing to the chamber where a pell scarred by hundreds of blows from wooden waster and blunt tourney sword would be victim to Tywin's rage. He would always spend the worst of his wroth before taking up a pine blade and a woven reed shield. Kevan still came out with many a bruise after their fights. That was a younger brother's duty: to take the blows and listen to the filth that spilled forth from his elder brother's lips. Those words were terrible. They were a litany of horrors he intended to inflict on the Reynes, and the Tarbecks, and all who shamed their house. He even once or twice said a thing that would have damned him in the eyes of the old gods and new.  
  
Their mock battles served to cool the worst of Tywin's anger as a barber might lance a wound full of pus. At least, Kevan hoped that it would still do that. The bruises at his sister Genna's throat worried him. So did the smirking, capering _thing_ that had been wearing his brother's skin at the feast this morn. Gods. The silence coming from the solar made Kevan nervous. Tywin rarely shouted when he disagreed with Father. Yet who knew what Tywin might do beset by strange dreams and odd whims? Kevan had spoken with Maester Beldon about what drove men mad. He had not had the courage to tell of the dreams that Tywin had admitted to Genna. The maester had said Tywin was not ill of mind. He was rebelling as boys were wont to do as they became men..  
  
The door to Father's solar opened. Tywin emerged so deep in anger that he missed Kevan entirely. That had to be the reason. He was always angry after Father's lectures. Kevan followed his brother until Tywin stopped beneath a torch in a side passage leading towards his chambers. Kevan peered at the tiny scroll that Tywin pulled from his doublet. Was that a raven's message? Had his brother truly stolen a message from Father's own desk? His brother read the message for a seeming eternity. Kevan realized there was no anger in his brother at all. He was _calm_. The little scrap of parchment was fed into the torch flaming above his brother. For a moment, it's light flared as it consumed the message. Tywin’s shadow wavered. It became smaller and twisted and _wrong_.  
  
"Oh, hello," it said. "Back from training with the master-at-arms?"  
  
"I thought you might want to spar," Kevan said.  
  
"I suppose I should." It raised its sword hand. "I can be a knight, all tall and proud in his plate."  
  
"We both will be," Kevan said. "We promised each other we would ride together once we won our spurs."  
  
"The two of us sharing hedges and entering as mystery knights in tourneys." It clapped its hand upon Kevan's right arm. "Chasing maidens about with our lances."  
  
"Charging into the fray against the foe," Kevan said.  
  
"The gods save us from that." It shuddered. "The field of battle sows a bitter crop indeed."  
  
"You agree with Father then." Gods, his brave brother had been replaced by a craven.  
  
"Some arguments can be solved with quill and ravens.," it said. "Others with gold, or steel slid into a kidney from behind. Open battle is the last resort, I find."  
  
"Did you see battle in your dream?" Kevan asked.   
  
"Talked to Genna, did you." It paused. "I saw two battles as the dwarf I might father. There was terrible beauty in both, one supposes. Gods, the river set alight."  
  
For some reason, it touched its nose.  
  
"Kevan, heed these words," it continued. "Battle is best seen after twenty years have passed by, with a horn of ale in one hand and an eager maiden in yout lap."  
  
"WiIl you not fight the Reynes?" Kevan asked. "You vowed to punish them for shaming us."  
  
"I have plans for our copper lions." It hummed a dirgelike melody. "Why, they might find themselves out in the rain."  
  
"I don't understand," Kevan said. "You have changed so much. It is as if my brother were--were--"  
  
"The visions granted by the gods left little of the boy you knew." Gold-flecked green eyes looked into his with a warmth that had not been there before. "In my nightmare, you were ever my kind and stalwart uncle. You will be my most leal brother, who would never play me false."  
  
"Of course, Tywin," Kevan said. "Orys to your Aegon, as we always said we would be."  
  
"Then let us ready ourselves to be knights." It hesitated. "The yard nearest our chambers?"  
  
"As always," Kevan lied.  
  
It studied him for what seemed like an eternity. Kevan prayed that it saw nothing save for a brother eager to please. The moments passed like hours until it finally released him. Kevan watched its shadow until it disappeared around a corner. His brother's shade remained untwisted. Mayhaps the demon which had taken him only showed itself when it thought no-one was about. It could not be the gods who had plucked out his brother's soul. It had to be a work of sorcery by the Lady Tarbeck gone awry. She must have importuned the Lord of the Seven Hells to replace his brother with some changeling wearing his face. Tywin would never demean himself by talking of riding about like some hedge knight.  
  
Mind you, riding about like hedge knights sounded fun.   
  
Kevan shook his head to rid himself of the treacherous thought. He could not let the demon trick him. Even if it had sounded almost pleading when talking about them having adventures together. Even if he wondered a little at what it claimed to have seen in battle to sour it so on war. It had nearly killed Genna. It could not be trusted. Kevan would have to mum being the leal brother to make sure it never hurt another Lannister. He shuddered. Now, he would have to swagger swords with it.  
  
But first, he would go to the sept to light a candle for Tywin at the Stranger.

++++

Tyrion had learned early to see feigned ease in his old life. He had sometimes thought that it would have been easier if he had been baseborn. A dwarf of low birth was mocked openly. He did not have to suffer the brittle, false smiles of those who were mindful of the golden lion at his breast and the equally golden coin in his purse. So his uncle-brother's cheerful manner did not fool him in the slightest. Tyrion could smell the fear-scent off him as Cersei could scent weakness. I lost his regard to false accusations, Tyrion mourned. I have been here barely a day and have lost him already. I must have misspoke to him in the passage. There was too much of Jaime to mum being the Old Lion.  
  
A sharp blow on his hip roused him. Tyrion grimaced. He had proposed they spar at half-pace under some pretext of burnishing technique. Another error. Tywin would have been confident in his own skills, or else retreat into drill at the pell if not. All the half-speed work did was reveal how shit Tyrion was. He had fought Vale clansmen, northern foot, and Stannis' knights. It had not been by skill-of-arms that he had survived. It had been because he had had much larger and proficient men about him. Well. That and a mixture of desperation to live and the luck that the gods had granted him to live long enough to put a quarrel in his father's groin. The slow pace of the fight against a boy he was not actually trying to kill proved that a lad of eight could carve him up like a goose at a feast. Kevan was not pulling the strikes he landed, either.  
  
Tyrion forced all such thoughts from his mind. He let the joy of his strong, nimble body rush through him. Even being humiliated in the yard was worth it to fight as an equal with anther boy. And Kevan did not entirely have Tyrion's measure. He refused to think of golden plate and a sword arm seemingly infused with magic. Instead, Tyrion thought back to a figure in plain steel with only a hint of gold here and there to proclaim him a Lannister. Uncle Tygett had been a man given to ill-humours and arguments. But he had always treated Tyrion with a gruff kindness of the sort granted to amusing children and mongrels. Tygett had defied Tywin's silent disapproval to allow Tyrion to serve as page when at practise in the yard. He had watched Uncle Ty--an utter demon in the melee--show off footwork and technique to a dwarf child that would like as not never have use for them.  
  
Uncle Ty had always been able to land a thrust when Uncle Kevan had dropped his guard just--  
  
"Ooooof!" Kevan stumbled to his knees, hands pressed just above his stomach.  
  
"A fine end you made of him." Ser Jason Lannister stood by a rack of wasters. "A pity everything before it was terrible."  
  
"My brother has been plagued by poor dreams," Kevan said. He winced when he came to his feet. "He is not himself at all."  
  
"I shall have to devote myself to time with the master-at-arms," Tyrion said. "Just as Prince Rhaegar one day decided to put aside books for steel."  
  
"What prince is that?" Ser Jason asked.  
  
"I must have turned simple," Tyrion said. Gods be damned, he had to watch his tongue even more, now. "Have you need of a squire, ser? I appear in need of some sharpening lest I shame the Lannister name by my fumblings."  
  
"I intend to take my Damon to squire," Jason said. "I could stay some time past the tourney to aid in both your training at arms."  
  
"That would be wonderful!" Kevan's sullen suspicion disappeared like dew on a hot summer day. "Father always spoke of your prowess when you were boys together."  
  
"It is my duty to serve him." Jason's expression grew stormy. "If only he would grant me leave."  
  
"Oh, don't bother. If you wish to discipline the toad and the red lion," Tyrion said, stripping off his jack, "it is a simple matter. Find those knights and lords they have dispossessed, then grant them gold and men to bring fire and sword to the upstarts."  
  
"That is not honorable, nephew," Jason said. "If such a thing were to be done, then best march under a banner to deal with them as the rebels they are."  
  
"If our dear father would allow you that," Tyrion said. He poured himself a goblet of water. "Tell me true, who would you have obeyed this morning---me or father--when asked to strip Lord Tarbeck into a beggar?"  
  
"My brother is the elder and my liege lord," Ser Jason said.  
  
"Of course he is." Tyrion nodded. "My regrets for putting you in such a situation, uncle."  
  
"No matter." Ser Jason chuckled. "The look of the toad's face was enough satisfaction. "  
  
"As for my little plot." Tyrion sighed. "It is only the impulses of an angry youth. Forget I ever mentioned it."  
  
"I would not bother my brother with such trifles," Ser Jason said.  
  
Tyrion smiled until he was sure Ser Jason was out of earshtot.  
  
"Kevan, find those lords and knights," Tyrion said. "Quietly. Anyone with a grudge, high or low or baseborn."  
  
"We are moving now?" Kevan gasped. "We have no coin or regard yet."  
  
"Allow me to worry about those," Tyrion said. "Schemes need some time to ripen. We must plant early while the ground is fertile."  
  
Tyrion strode off to cut off any of his brother's objections. It was something his father had been wont to do to end any debate. Pity about his now-uncle Jason, Tyrion mused. It was all too typical of the failures of good men. One must give one's loyalty according to the decrees of laws and men. No matter if the lord is a weak fool, or the king a vile sadist stupid enough to arm a common assassin with a Valyrian steel dagger. Well. He himself was not a good man. Oh, he had once prated about justice. But that had been pillow talk was to a treacherous whore. Tyrion had waited for Casterly Rock for over twenty years in vain hope his father would recognize him. He was not content to wait another five-and-ten until Tytos Lannister died of a burst heart.  
  
Which autumn had it been when the Mountain's sire had won his arms?  
  
He had more immediate matters than deciding if some kennel-master needed to die before a hunt. The dark words brought by the raven from the Twins meant swift action was needed. Tyrion could not risk Lord Walder Frey coming within twenty leagues of Tytos Lannister. Sadly, he could not send back some suitably insulting reply to end the affair. It appeared that the stoat had been sniffing about for some time. The raven's message was a reply that he would await the ship being sent to Seagard to bring him to discuss a betrothal personally. Walder might be forestalled some time by words that he should come by land due to dangers from the ironmen. Some reavers had already begun their attacks this early, did they not?  
  
Tyrion missed Bronn. The sellsword could have been trusted to deal with the stoat-lord. For that matter, having the Mountain that Rides or Ser Amory Lorch would have been a boon as well. Now, there were words Tyrion never thought he would ever have in his mind. Either of them lacked a certain subtlety that Tyrion preferred. Yet they were still useful monsters. He needed one dearly.  No doubt one might be found among the men that Kevan was inquiring about. But it would take time to find someone among their number willing to risk everything to kill a lord as powerful as a Frey. Tyrion estimated he had perhaps a moon's turn or two to ready someone to ensure that Genna Lannister was not betrothed so young to a toll-taker's second son.  
  
There had to be someone.  
  
Tyrion froze.  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
Why, there had been exactly the monsters he needed right there before him this morning.  
  
And it would have driven his father _insane,_ would it not?  
  
Tyrion burst into wild laughter.  
  
After all, every task had a tool.

+++++

Genna popped another candied cherry into her mouth as soon as she finished the last. She had eaten so many she was sick of them. If she ate enough, though, she might fill the hollowness inside. Why had Father done that? It had been perfect. Tywin had had that stupid nasty toad right under his paw. Everyone was going to laugh at him the way they always laughed at Father. Then Father had taken away the honor of being queen of love and beauty from Mother and her to give to the Tarbeck girls. And her own family would be jousting in their honor instead of hers.  
  
Pain flared in her throat when she swallowed. Her neck was still sore from when she had woken up Tywin. Genna tucked up the high collar of her dress to hide the bruises. Her fingers were still sticky with cherry juice. Well, she wore red today like a proper Lannister. It wouldn't show. Genna closed her eyes when the brush passed through her hair. Mother had come to calm her after Father had told her about giving into the Reynes and Tarbecks once again. Genna liked it when Mother did that. Mother was really here to calm herself. Genna had seen Mohter sobbing while Father told her about the honor of their house.   
  
Whistling came from just outside in her mother's solar. It was a strange dirge that the whistler gave a jaunty air. Genna jumped out of Mother's lap to run into Tywin's open arms when he came into Mother's bedchamber. Her biggest brother would fix everything! She knew it. Oh, Kevan said odd things about it not really being her brother. But Genna knew better. The gods had taken away into a dream that made him funny and strong and brave. He would make sure that the heads of the Reynes and Tarbecks would be set above the Lion's Mouth so that she laugh and wave at them every day.   
  
"Is there a scorpion hidden about?" Tywin asked. "You near bowled me over, little sister."  
  
"Someone should eat fewer cherries, methinks," Mother said.  
  
"They make me feel better." Genna looked up at her brother in alarm. "Was I fat in your dream?"  
  
"You grow up to be a woman of fine curves," Tywin said. "A lush beauty. Although perhaps fewer cakes and more riding may be wise."  
  
"Perhaps less capering and stealing kisses of maidens may be wise as well." Mother"s voice was stern. "If you must do so, then not her daughters."  
  
"When one hunts lion, it is best to come upon it as it sleeps," Tywin said. "One might have a spear in its heart before it knows the hunter is upon it."  
  
"I don't want you to be nice to them," Genna said. "You told me that the only thing we should show them is fire and sword."  
  
"Hush. I will place their pelts as rugs before you both," Tywin said.  
  
"This is not fit talk before your sister," Mother said. There was a bit of a smile on her lips. "As for her daughters, you will show them only the courtesies due to them."  
  
"I shall be the politest cub that ever was," Tywin said, "Mother, a question. Walderan is a toad. Ellyn is the sort of woman I know well. What of Roger Reyne? Is he a man of pride or honor?"  
  
"If he had any honor, he would not cheat Father," Genna said.  
  
"It is a fair question, sweetling," Mother said. "Once, I thought him a true and gallant knight. He professes to honor. Yet he showed his true nature when your grandsire banished him from the Rock along with his sister."  
  
"Also a sort I know well," Tywin muttered. "At least of some measure of those I will face should I still have lands to rule."  
  
Genna settled beside Tywin on a couch from far Yi-Ti while Mother brought Tygett out of his cradle. Her littlest brother squalled angrily until Tywin made the funniest faces. Genna could not help laughing along with everyone else. Tywin had changed so much. That was true enough. He was stiill her big brother who would make sure that nothing happened to her. Genna vowed to herself to be patient. She could be queen of love and beauty of half a hundred thousand tourneys while Lady Ellyn and her two daughters were locked screaming in crow's cages.   
  
Kevan came in half the turn of a glass later. He watched Tywin suspiciously as if he were some horrible monster. Genna pressed close to him to show how silly Kevan was being. Kev hesitated before coming close to whisper in Tywin's ear. Tywin nodded wearing his stern face, which seemed to calm Kevan somewhat. He still went to sit by Mother rather than by Tywin as he usually did. That needed to stop, Genna thought. They all had to be together! Tywin would rule with Kevan as his champion. Genna would be Lady of the Rock until Tywin was wed. Then she would be in her own holdfast while her husband would feed her candied cherries all day. Genna was unsure why a man with a cock the size of a horse was important. She supposed she might find out after the bedding.  
  
Tywin was staring into the fire blazing in the hearth. Genna laid her head against his shoulder. It had been such a long day. Her pout had taken much from her. The flames seemed to twist and writhe until they became a forest. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched a twisted, naked little form stumble through snowdrifts of white fire. He clutched his hands over his loins where a broken wooden shaft jutted out. She fancied she could see him scream to her for help before the wolves closed in on him. Genna watched fascinated as seven beasts the size of the wolf upon the Stark arms ripped the dwarf to pieces. As one, they turned to glare out of the fire.  
  
"How utterly poetic," Tywin chuckked, "I hope you feasted well."  
  
The wolves soundlessly howled.  
  
"I understand. Debts to be paid," Tywin whispered. "Or else I might find myself hunted in the dark. You have made your point."  
  
"Ty, who are they?" Genna mumbled.  
  
"Nothing to worry your sleepy head over," Tywin said. "Now come to bed. We want you fresh for the tourney tomorrow."


	5. The Halfman's Tourney

It was a balm to Ellyn's tormented soul that she was once again at the tourney grounds of Casterly Rock. The hastiltudes held in her honor had been the height of chivalry that had seen her family win time and time again. Ellyn did her best to hold tourneys at Castamere and Tarbeck Hall; they were well-attended given Toothless Tytos' lack of interest in matters of the Warrior. She almost had pity for Jeyne Marbrand. It was said the wench had to arrange these matters herself if she ever wished to see men joust in her favor. Ellyn permitted herselt a tiny smile at the thought that today, on her rivsl's son's name-day, her own kin would be riding for a Tarbeck's daughters.  
  
The tourney grounds were an arrows's flight from the Lion's Mouth. Five courses with white-painted barriers ran north to south so no contestant would face the sun in his eyes. To the south were melee grounds at which men-at-arms fight face one another, and a great ring surrounded by posts-and-rope for the great melees. To the north were butts for archery and crossbowmen. Surrounding them all was a town of canvas and silk and sailcloth--knight's pavilions, the booths of merchants, and stages great and small for puppet shows and mummery troupes. Once, she might have presided over this as she did the balls and feasts at the Rock. She did her best with the gold cozened from Tytos to throw celebrations as magnificent at her husband's hall.  
  
It was never enough.  
  
Ellyn swept her gaze over the box granted to the Tarbecks and the one right next to her true house. As out of favor as she might be, precedence and power were enough to have both placed opposite the high dais of reserved for the Lannisters. All the knighted sons and sworn swords bearing the blue and white star and the red lion both were mounted by the small tents just below where they could rest between tilts. She had to admit that Roger was magnificent in his plate upon his barded destrier. Her oaf of a husband and her brother Reynard were on the benches rather than the field. Walderan was too old and done for jousting, Reynard's talents lay in his silver tongue and deft mind than skill at arms.  
  
Trumpets sounded. The Lion's Mouth opened as the horns rose into a brassy roar. Ellyn looked over her daughters. Both were beautiful as the Maiden in dresses of silk and Myrish lace beneath heavy woolen cloaks trimmed with northern furs to ward off the bite of a late autumn morning. She surveyed them both critically. Rohanne was but a girl, really. At least she understood what was expected of her. Frowning, Ellyn snatched away the tome that Cerelle thought she had hidden under a lap-robe. She had not had gone through the pain of birthing her to have her become a septa.   
  
Red-cloaked guardsmen in lion's-head helms formed a mounted guard around Toothless Tytos and his brood. Ellyn schooled her features into the bland pleasantry of a woman facing her enemy in public seeing that milksop Marbrand where she should have been. She silently reveled in the grim countenances of Ser Jason and the other Lannister lances. Good. Let them ride in earnest for her daughters, or else show themselves false and craven in the lists. Before both rode Tytos's two sons. Ellyn studied the eldest most carefully. He appeared to be the solemn boy that she had heard of from tales brought to her by friends at the Rock. The Lannisters drew up before the stands where Ellyn sat with her husband and daughters.  
  
"Walderan!" Tytos' brow was beaded with sweat despite the morning's chill. "Such a fine day. It would be a pity if quarrels spoiled it so early."  
  
"I am sure your son meant no harm," her husband said though clenched teeth. "The youg lad was hot-blooded like my own Tion. Words are wind."  
  
"Still, my son must be taught a--" Tytos swallowed. "He must learn his lesson. Bannermen must not be shamed so over trifles."  
  
"I confess my fault, my lord of Tarbeck." The boy bowed in his saddle. "To take liberties with your daughters before court is indefensible. Accusing you of beggary without granting you the chance to prove your innocence is not done."  
  
The corners of the boy's mouth twisted up slightly as he held out a hand.  
  
"My dragon back, if it please you, my lord," the boys said. "With a groat tossed in as interest."  
  
"Hahahahah, he japes once more!" Tytos reached out to take his son's wrist.  
  
"No." The bitch Jeyne flicked her reins to move before her husband. "Your son is attempting to let this man redeem his honor.."  
  
Two golden coins spun through the air. The vile boy caught them easily.  
  
"House Reyne has taken on my goodbrother's debts," Roger said. "Have your gold back doubled."  
  
"I regret I ever doubted your gallantry and honor, my lord of Reyne." The boy inclined his head. "Why, my own mother said your were a true knight. I will donate these dragons in the names of both our houses to the Golden Sept."  
  
"All quarrels done," Tytos said. "And for the, ah, liberties taken? The Lannisters will ride with the Tarbecks and Reynes as champions for dear Rohanne and Cerelle."  
  
"My poor sister, denied a chance at being queen of love and beauty by my foolishness." Tywin cocked his head. "Unless a generous and gallant knight who once rode with pride with my house ."  
  
Ellyn's eyes widened when Jeyne's chit nudged her pony to Roger with a red-and-gold scarf in one hand.  
  
"Would you wear my favor, my lord? The chits lips wobbled in a disgusting mummery of pitiable pleading. "You who rode with my late nuncles and served the king so well?"  
  
"How could a true, honorable knight refuse such?" the boy said. "And who better to ride for my sister than the greatest sword in all the westerlands."  
  
Roger's gaze flicked to her in mute appeal.  
  
Time, time, Ellyn needed just a moment--  
  
An ungauntleted hand plucked the scarf from the chit.  
  
"I alone ride for you, little Genna." Roger tied the scarf about his upper right arm. "My house will remain neutral in the contest."  
  
"Why, Roger, thank you!" Tytos grinned liked a simpleton. "You truly are a good man."  
  
"Come down, dear rubies." The boy bowed again. "I could not sleep for the thought that you might grace my presence beside me this day. Halls of gold are ever cold...but maiden's lips are warm."  
  
Rohanne burst into delighted, scandalized giggles before rushing down to the boy. Cerelle hesitated one long moment before following her sister. Ellyn was too stunned to stop her younger daughter from snatching back her book. The boy flicked his reins when Rohanne appeared before him. Ellyn tensed when his pony dashed into a trot. Then the smallfolk and much of the nobles besides roared their approval when he swept her up like a Dothraki screamer capturing a fleeing maid. The boy set her side-saddle before her as he tilted his head in respect to Roger. The younger brother was less dramatic. He dismounted before helping Cerelle onto the saddle behind him.  
  
The smallfolk cheered even louder when Roger trotted into the lists closest to the Lannister stands across from her own seat. It was Walderan's second-eldest Ser Edric who faced her brother from the opposite side. The man's face was pale as milk as he gazed at Roger lowering his helm's visor with a determined snap. Gallant as he might seem, her elder brother had a reputation for ferocity in the joust and on the battlefield unmatched anywhere in the realm. Ellyn suddenly realized there was only one Lannister in the lists: Tytos's brother Ser Jason. He faced a knight of no particular distinguishment. The other knights riding against those pledged as her daughter's champions were bore the flaming tree of the Marbrands, or the heraldry of other houses with grievances against her husband.  
  
Her brother had been manipulated to ride with their enemies against his goodbrother's house.  
  
Across the lists, the boy sat next to her eldest daughter...and smiled as the thunder of hooves began. 

  


++++  


  


It was soothing for a plot to work out.  
  
Not that is compared much to his machinations in King's Landing. All he had to do was chat with the master of games. Gold had not even had to cross that worthy's palm. After all, Tywin was the heir. What purported to be his father's whims must be true. There had been some small risk that Roger Reyne would refuse his sister's favor, or Tytos would interfere in some manner. His mother's timely intervention had forestalled the latter. Lord Reyne's own nature had pushed him to accept. The Lion of Castamere was more of a jackal. Yet, he could not be seen before all to contradict the image of a gallant warrior. Least of all could he contradict himself.  
  
The smallfolk roared over the crack of breaking lances. Tyrion saluted the victor with his ale horn. Roger Reyne lifted the broken stump of a tourney lance in triumph as Ser Perwyn Payne clutched his shoulder. The Red Lion had ended their tilt of three broken lances with a deft strike past the man's shield. Genna cheered lustily along with his father and the Lannisters upon the viewing dais. Even Rohanne Tarbeck clapped her hands at her uncle's skill. Her cheeks were aglow. The girl found every cross of lance and clash of tourney blade a delight. Tyrion guessed that the child had been raised upon tales from her mother's lips about the grand tourneys of the Rock.   
  
\--- _blue eyes dull as they looked upon him, face a mask as he stood upon a fool---_  
  
Tyrion held out his ale horn to be filled anew. He noticed his mother's frown. Well, it was only small beer. He would have to drink a tun of it to becone decently pissed. He still forced himself to sip lightly rather than gulp. He did have a fine body now. It would be a shame to ruin what the gods had so generously provided. He supposed he made the correct noises at Rohanne's prattle. It was the typical chatter of a maiden--the beauty of the day, the chivalry, on and on of that rot. He glanced at his uncle-now-brother beside him. Kevan was quiet. He was not the smiling soul that Tyrion remembered. He and his companion for the day sat leaning away from each other. The younger Tarbeck girl seemed to be sneaking glimpses of a small tome held discreety in her lap.  
  
"Is that Septon Barth's _Meditations_?" Tryion asked.   
  
"My sister is always reading," Rohanne said, hand laid over his. "Really, Cerry, if you keep sticking your nose in a book it will end up caught."  
  
"Now, now, books are as a whetstone to the mind," Tyrion said. "I read it myself. It is quite rare save in certain libraries. Baelor the Blessed ordered the Faith to burn it along with much else of Barth's work."  
  
"I never saw you read holy books," Kevan said. "That is new along with so much else."  
  
"I came across it one rainy day," Cerelle said softly. "I love Septon Barth's argumnent that the Seven are the reflections of ourselves cast upon the world by the One's light. It is very like some of the preachings of the Lord of Light."  
  
"I am sure you and Kevan can chat about it all you want." Rohanne's grip tightened. "Tywin and I can watch our uncle defeat everyone to win the tourney."  
  
"Then you will not be queen of love and beauty." Tyrion forced himself to smile at the girl.   
  
"There will be other tourneys." Rohanne looked down. "Mayhaps you might ride in my name in one when you earn your spurs."  
  
"To ride for such a ruby would be a privilege." _Will you think so when I put the head of your father on a spike at the gates of the Rock?_ "I would have thought your brother would be jousting in your name. Why is he not here?"  
  
"Redspots," Cerelle answered. "He caught it from the baker's boy. Mother had the boy flogged."  
  
"We are salted against it," Rohanne assured him. "No worries that you will be abed with it."  
  
"That would be a tragedy." Tyrion chuckled, "I would hope the doom your mother brought my family only lasted a generation. They should have called her the Lady of Harrrenhal for all that every Lannister that was in her had a terrible end."  
  
Rohanne's smile stayed for all that her face seemed carved from dead stone.  
  
"Forgive me, the imp capers a touch on my tongue." Tyrion handed his almost-full ale horn to a servant. "Enough of that. We must lock him away."  
  
"It was merely a jape." Rohanne kept smiling. "We--we are half-lion, so it is fair our tails be twisted."  
  
"Brother, would you show Cerelle the library of the Rock?" Kevan said. "She wishes to see it so. You seem to know it better than I."  
  
"I would be honored," Tyrion replied, seeing a furiously-blushing Cerelle intent on her book. "Although I am sure Maester Belden has a better sense of the place."  
  
Trumpets blared when the challengers once against struck shields for the next round. Lord Reyne had retired from the field. Tyrion hoped that he had done so before that barb about his sister had been cast out. Rohanne seemed as joyful as ever when the ten jousters faced each other. No doubt her dear mother had warned her to humor him along with primping her like a taverner's daughter put out to earn a stag from her maidenhead. The girl would most certainly ripen into a delight in three or four years. He might keep her in some hidden corner of the Rock in silks and collar as if she were a concubine in Lys. That had been his mistake with Sansa. He should have bedded her in the tower-room of Chattaya's.  
  
Some trick of the air brought the _thrum_ of crossbows from the butts.  
  
Tyrion covered his maddened laughter with a cheer for the valor of the jousters. I said I was my father writ small. But I am Joffrey writ large, am I not? Though he was even fonder of the crossbow than I. Oh, Rohanne. I suspect you connive in your heart as Sansa did when she told Cersei of her father's plots. You will most like earn the fate she reaped for that betrayal. It will certinly be no worse than what you would suffer in the years that would have come. Both girls had been sent to the silent sisters after Tarbeck Hall had fallen. Dark rumours had it that his father had had their tongues ripped out. A secret only whispered among the Lannisters had told of where they had been consigned. Rohanne and Cerelle had been sealed into a catacomb deep in the Rock to serve the common dead, with enough sustenance slipped to them to prolong their living entombment.  
  
He made some excuse about the rental of beer before rushing up to the rear of the dais. Behind folds of cloth was a garderobe with cells formed of curtains with privy chairs within. Tyrion hung his head over one until he was sure that his breakfast would stay where it was. There was a bowl of cold water and soap for the washing after. He splashed his face hard enough to slap. There was no turning back. He could use the Reynes and Tarbecks only so much before Walderan and his kin's heads were spiked before their burning hall. The rains would fall upon Castamere. At least the two girls would live. They would be no worse off than thousands of such girls over the narrow sea who served on back or belly. _Where do whores go?_ Why, where I put them, dear father.  
  
"Son, are you decent?" Tytos' voice called from just beyond.  
  
"Hah," Tyrion laughed softly. "That is the question."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I am presentable." Stick up arse, halfman. Play this farce to its end.   
  
"The jousts have ended for the morn." Tytos poked his head in. "I wish to go as a family about the tourney grounds."  
  
"Of course, the people must see their lord and heir," Tyrion answered.  
  
"If you wish, you might bring Rohanne along." Tytos grimaced. "Jeyne won't be best pleased. But we can hardly fob her off to her family now."  
  
"Tell mother we are holding her as hostage," Tyrion said. "Suggest we foster both girls at the Rock as such."  
  
"Very amusing, son." Tytos patted Tyrion on the shoulder. "Your mother would know that I would never harm a hair on their heads."  
  
_That is because she suspeects I would strangle them myself,._  
  
"I wish to say that I am proud of you, Tywin," Tytos continued.  
  
"Proud?" Tyrion said faintly.  
  
"I would not have treated Walderan so roughly," Tytos said. "You still showed grace and dignity. You were very much the image of your grandsire."  
  
"I am told I bit old Gerrold when he first held me," Tyrion said.  
  
"Set a pattern, then," Tytos muttered. The Laughing Lion cleared his throat. "If you leaven your wit with a touch more kindness, then you will truly be Gerrold the Golden come again."  
  
"Thank you." That was all Tyrion could bring himself to say. "I...never thought to hear mine father say he was proud of me."  
  
"Come now, I must have said it before." Tytos laughed. "We may be at odds, Tywin, yet we are family."  
  
Tyrion stared at the man who must die so that he might rule a strong Rock and Westerlands.  
  
"Yes. Yes we are."  


  


++++  


  


Tyrion was becoming more and more convinced of Stannis Baratheon's view of the gods. He had always thought that they had created him as a macabre joke. At least, in his old form he had been a jape with a purpose. All of the world knew him as a rebuke to the Old Lion's pride and ambition. But this jest he was living was cruel beyond comprehension. Here he walked the handsome lad he had always dreamed of. Before him was the kind father who beamed with pride for his son. Arm and arm with him was a gentle mother who had embraced him as her own. A lovely sister clung to him without any sign she wished to twist his cock. Even Kevan's sullen resentment was a boon. Better that than another brother false as Shae's smiles.  
  
It was a bubble floating above a field of nettles. Jeyne Marbrand was doomed to die of fever in three years. If he interfered, then his uncle-but-would-be-brother would never be born. Tyrion owed Gerion too much to risk denying his existence as he planned with Jaime and Cersei. It might even play to Tyrion's advantage for her to pass. Tytos would be a broken man then. Poison words could be whispered into the grieving man's ear. The Wall? No, not there. Gerion had said his father should have been an innkeeper. Tyrion thought a septon's robes would do him better. Yes. He could appoint Tytos the septon of the Golden Sept. He could feast and scatter gold and fuck as many novice septas as he wished to fill the hole in his heart.  
  
There were smiles all around as the Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock walked among the smallfolk of the tourney-fair. Make mock of him behind his back--Tyrion well-knew how faithless the commons were--but everyone seemed enthralled by how in love the two of them were. Would my true father have walked in public with a hand slipping scandalously close to Joanna's arse? No, Tywin would not. _Wife, we must act with dignity_. Fool you were, Old Lion. This is what love was meant to be. He could see Tytos and Jeyne sneaking out of the Rock to some little house by the Sunset Sea. There they might lie as the sun went below the horizon, golden hair intertwined with chestnut. _I loved a maid_ \---  
  
"Are you thinking of her?" Genna asked.   
  
"Not Shae." Tyrion looked south. Was their little cottage standing in this time? "Another, truer love. A pretty crofter's girl chance-met on the road."  
  
"Like Prince Duncan and his lady Jenny." Genna sighed. "The Prince of Dragonflies gave up the throne for her."  
  
"You called him a fool for that," Kevan said.  
  
"So I did. The man I will become thought as much," Tyrion replied. He let go of Genna's hand lest her crush it. "He called me to his solar and--"  
  
_Silver spilled from a fist clenched in agony._  
  
"--told me Lannisters did not play at man and wife with peasants," Tyrion continued. "So I either sent her on her way with a hundred stags, or she would hang."  
  
Kevan looked away.  
  
_Ah. So you do not doubt the boy you knew would do that._  
  
"Did he--" Genna scrunched up her brow. "Did the man you would grow up to be ever know love?"  
  
"It is said of my mother that they were as close as Mother and Father," Tyrion said. "The dream never gave me her name. Any love in him died with her when she birthed me, their only child."  
  
"You'll find love." Genna hugged him. "It might even be Rohanne. Since she is a Tarbeck, her dying won't be as bad."  
  
Tyrion was understanding more and more the terror that Emmon Frey had lived with ever since Genna had come of age.  
  
"It is only a dream. All lies." Kevan walked sullenly behind them for a time. "Who did I marry?"  
  
"A good woman. She was polite with me." Tyrion considered how best to describe Lancel. "And you will have at least one son, knighted for bravery in battle defending the king."  
  
"We do?" Kevan glanced at Tyrion sidelong. "What was my wife's name?"  
  
"I can't tell you." Tyrion winked. "There must be some mysteries in life for you to solve."  
  
In truth, Tyrion had no idea if Dorna Swyft would wed Kevan. So much might change. Harys Swyft's daughter had become enamored of the much-older Kevan when she had spent time at the Rock as surety for her father's debts. Tyrion had never understood why his uncle had married the pious, flat-chested Dorna. Perhaps he was so accustomed to being in the Old Lion's shadow that has settled for the lesser bride. Tyrion suspected that this Kevan would be less content to be so effacing. There were hints of resentment that were more akin to Tygett's anger at ever being so small in comparison to his eldest brother.   
  
Could Tyrion find love? Gods, why should he not! He was handsome now to match his wits. He was the heir to the Rock. If not love, then why not some highborn maiden who at least would be agreeable to his touch in the dark? One who might bear him sweet babes of his own? Tyrion imagined him holding her hand beside the birthing bed. He would cool her brow with wet cloths as she cursed him for putting his spawn in her. She would arch and shriek and out they would come: a lovely girl with a son clinging to her heel.   
  
No.  
  
He would drown any woman he bedded with enough moon tea to make a Dorne of their wombs before he would risk that.  
  
Tyrion gazed to the west where the Rock rose high to the heavens. They said it resembled a lion in repose. It might be better to think of it as a lioness. Tyrion thought of its halls and oubliettes; snug chambers and wet drain,; of the weight of stone while lying abed listening to the booming of waves in the caverns at its base. Deep within him growled a maned beast: _mine_. The Rock had been the love he had sought in Father and Tysha and countless whore's cunts. The Rock was ever faithful. It was loving mother and dutiful wife and eager slut all at once. _All I wanted was you, beloved._   
  
For a woman's hands grew cold as death. In halls of gold, he would be warm. 


End file.
